Kelvin and I got out for a (rare) date night last night and the kids stayed home with one of their school teachers as a babysitter (thank you, Cila!). We are trying, this new year, to be intentional about getting out (just the two of us), even though it takes a lot of advance-planning and coordinating, and there's always some degree of working-parent guilt involved.
I planned to just write a blog post about the feelings that were stirred in me after watching our date-night movie "Just Mercy," a film (in the social-justice-drama vein, my preferred movie genre) after the same memoir by the same name in which author (, lawyer, and producer) Bryan Stevenson details the heroic but gut-wrenching work he does with the Equal Justice Initiative to defend (and successfully exonerate many) wrongfully convicted prisoners (mostly people of color in Alabama, like Walter McMillian who is at the center of the story) on death row. (Anthony Ray Hinton is another inmate that Bryan represented who was exonerated and released after three decades in prison, and his memoir The Sun Does Shine was one of my top reads of 2019). (Kelvin asked me, "is this going to be just us and an audience of crying white ladies like at "The Help?" which I dragged him to and during which I was definitely sobbing while we were newly dating! "Probably," I responded.)
It is shocking and tragic how terrible our country's criminal justice system is (particularly in the South and with regards to people of color, whose rights are grossly violated), where we have traded the sins of slavery and public lynching for random traffic stops and fatal shootings of people of color for "driving while black," as well as mass incarceration and (in some states) capital punishment with an error rate up to 10%. It is heartbreaking and infuriating to hear of all of the lives destroyed (and extinguished) without evidence or justice. With MLK day just passed and Black History Month approaching, we are trying to find ways to expose our kids in an age-appropriate way how to recognize and (with hope) eschew racism and other oppressive systems in this country at the same time that we can barely stomach the news to stay informed. Nevertheless, as Stevenson states, "Hopelessness is the enemy of justice," so we will just try not to lose hope.
Then, late this morning, we heard the devastating news that Kobe Bryant, the legendary Lakers basketball player, was killed (along with his 13-year-old daughter Gianna and several other passengers) in a helicopter crash outside Los Angeles at age 41. While not at the hands of white police, it very well could have been had his life taken a different path. We are still reeling from the shock, which has hit me harder than has any other "celebrity" death I can remember. Kobe, who entered the NBA as a young, 18-year-old high school grad (from the school, Lower Merion, which my college roommate, Cathleen, also attended), spent his whole 20-year career and won five NBA championships with the team, and was one of the all-time greatest scorers in NBA history. While I've never been a huge Lakers fan and Kobe was certainly flawed (he was credibly accused of sexual assault), I recognize that he (who, three years older than I am is really my contemporary) was more than just a basketball legend-- he was an author, an Oscar winner, someone who touched people across the country and world, including other athletes (many in the tennis world, in particular) and a sports hero who inspired a generation of young people to strive for greatness (and who undoubtedly had much more to contribute). I can't imagine what his wife Vanessa and surviving (three) daughters (one a mere six months old), as well as the families of the other victims, will need to endure over the coming months, years, and lifetime without their rock(s). For Kobe: basketball games today included 24-second shot-clock and 8-second back-court violations by players in his honor and memory (for his two jersey numbers), and many carried "Mamba" tributes on their shoes and tears in their eyes.
I planned to just write a blog post about the feelings that were stirred in me after watching our date-night movie "Just Mercy," a film (in the social-justice-drama vein, my preferred movie genre) after the same memoir by the same name in which author (, lawyer, and producer) Bryan Stevenson details the heroic but gut-wrenching work he does with the Equal Justice Initiative to defend (and successfully exonerate many) wrongfully convicted prisoners (mostly people of color in Alabama, like Walter McMillian who is at the center of the story) on death row. (Anthony Ray Hinton is another inmate that Bryan represented who was exonerated and released after three decades in prison, and his memoir The Sun Does Shine was one of my top reads of 2019). (Kelvin asked me, "is this going to be just us and an audience of crying white ladies like at "The Help?" which I dragged him to and during which I was definitely sobbing while we were newly dating! "Probably," I responded.)
It is shocking and tragic how terrible our country's criminal justice system is (particularly in the South and with regards to people of color, whose rights are grossly violated), where we have traded the sins of slavery and public lynching for random traffic stops and fatal shootings of people of color for "driving while black," as well as mass incarceration and (in some states) capital punishment with an error rate up to 10%. It is heartbreaking and infuriating to hear of all of the lives destroyed (and extinguished) without evidence or justice. With MLK day just passed and Black History Month approaching, we are trying to find ways to expose our kids in an age-appropriate way how to recognize and (with hope) eschew racism and other oppressive systems in this country at the same time that we can barely stomach the news to stay informed. Nevertheless, as Stevenson states, "Hopelessness is the enemy of justice," so we will just try not to lose hope.
Then, late this morning, we heard the devastating news that Kobe Bryant, the legendary Lakers basketball player, was killed (along with his 13-year-old daughter Gianna and several other passengers) in a helicopter crash outside Los Angeles at age 41. While not at the hands of white police, it very well could have been had his life taken a different path. We are still reeling from the shock, which has hit me harder than has any other "celebrity" death I can remember. Kobe, who entered the NBA as a young, 18-year-old high school grad (from the school, Lower Merion, which my college roommate, Cathleen, also attended), spent his whole 20-year career and won five NBA championships with the team, and was one of the all-time greatest scorers in NBA history. While I've never been a huge Lakers fan and Kobe was certainly flawed (he was credibly accused of sexual assault), I recognize that he (who, three years older than I am is really my contemporary) was more than just a basketball legend-- he was an author, an Oscar winner, someone who touched people across the country and world, including other athletes (many in the tennis world, in particular) and a sports hero who inspired a generation of young people to strive for greatness (and who undoubtedly had much more to contribute). I can't imagine what his wife Vanessa and surviving (three) daughters (one a mere six months old), as well as the families of the other victims, will need to endure over the coming months, years, and lifetime without their rock(s). For Kobe: basketball games today included 24-second shot-clock and 8-second back-court violations by players in his honor and memory (for his two jersey numbers), and many carried "Mamba" tributes on their shoes and tears in their eyes.
Why do such terrible things happen in this world? How do you move on from tragedy?
Hope.
Pray.
Love.
And as Bryan Stevenson writes, "Each of us is more than the worst thing we've ever done." Life is short. Be the best and do the most good you can while you're on this earth. Have Mercy. While flawed, we all have something to give.




















































